I Was Braver In Boyhood
by chimericalll
Summary: He's grown up like she asked him to, so why is nobody happy? A one-shot about a grown Peter Pan.


**(A/N): Inspired by the song "Boyhood" by Ed Tullett.**

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The shiny nameplate on his desk read "Peter Pan, Accountant." When he received it, he hadn't quite known what to do with it. The name and the title didn't seem to fit together. When he told her how he felt about the plate, she laughed, saying that it was something to be proud of. He should put it at the front of his desk so it was the first thing you saw when walking into his office. He did so. It still never felt quite right.

He'd left Neverland years ago. Put his love for her above his desire to stay a boy forever. At first, it wasn't so bad. He still played pretend and they swung wooden swords at each other in the park around the corner. Then years went by, and he grew. His baby teeth fell out. He grew taller, and now required monthly haircuts. She grew, too. Her frame grew curvier and her hair got softer and shinier. Her hidden kiss showed itself from time to time, but it was usually coated in gluey lipstick that he had to wipe off his face afterwards.

And then, in what seemed to take hardly any time at all, they were grown up. One day, while walking through the park around the corner where they used to sword fight, he got down on one knee, because that was what she had told him he should do. They were grownups now and it was about time they settled down. It was a beautiful ceremony, and all the guests blew dandelion seeds at them as they ran out to the car that took them to their honeymoon. John and Michael were groomsmen. They'd long since abandoned the days of warpaint and "foolish" stories about Hook's band of insidious swashbucklers. They had grown up, too. Everyone had.

On this evening in particular, he sat alone in the room they shared and wondered where he had gone. He hadn't been feeling himself for a while. For years, actually. He missed himself. He looked at his face in the mirror, and all he recognized was his hair color. Even his eyes, once full of light, seemed different than in boyhood. Dimmer. They were getting ready to go to a formal dinner and dance sponsored by his boss. It was an end-of-the-year reward for his branch, who just finished up a very good term, making a lot of money for his company. He wore a three piece suit and a bottle green bow tie because she said it brought out his eyes. He didn't want to bring attention to his shadowy eyes, but it made her so happy that it almost made him happy.

She came out of the bathroom wearing a silky black dress that looked like a whisper. The dark fabric drew attention to her milky skin. She was beautiful, just like she had been the first time he saw her. In a moment of sudden inspiration, he grabbed her and kissed her. She smiled against his mouth and he smiled back for a moment.

"Wendy," he whispered. "Remember when I taught you to fly?"

She pulled back and looked away from his gaze. "That was a long time ago, Peter." He nodded and took her hand to lead her out to the car. They didn't discuss it again.

The dinner was held in his office building, because there was a ballroom on the bottom floor, and his boss didn't want to pay for a venue. Everybody cared a lot about money. That, and suits. All his coworkers complimented his suit, though he couldn't see why.

They served a creamy mushroom soup and a green leafy salad, followed by chicken and boiled potatoes. She ate small bites of each, gushing about how delicious it was, how happy she was that he worked in a place that allowed them such luxuries. Yet she didn't finish her plate, claiming she was on a diet. He liked it better when she wasn't on a diet.

And then there was dancing. They cleared away all the tables and turned on quiet music. The entire affair was very refined and tasteful, but it didn't make him happy. Waltzing around the ballroom, tripping over his own feet and hers, he noticed how much he preferred flying to using his feet. He hadn't been able to fly since he turned 18. He told her it was because he had run out of pixie dust, but truly, it was because none of his thoughts were happy enough anymore.

He watched the soft skirts of her dress billow out when she twirled, and he watched her face light up when they brought out the champagne, and he watched as she chatted politely with his coworkers and their wives. And he realized something. She had always been meant to grow up. He hadn't. This was an environment in which she thrived, and he simply didn't. Couldn't. His body had grown up, but his mind hadn't. And that made him sad. Worse than sad. So he knew what he had to do.

When the party ended, he told her that he had to go back up to his office to check on a few things. She should head home; he'd take a cab later. He loved her very much. She told him she was proud that he cared so much about his work. Then she whispered in his ear that she was so glad he had grown up for her. He smiled back weakly and then kissed her goodbye.

His office was on the top floor, overlooking the Thames. His polished, shiny window opened up to the clear night air. He climbed out onto the ledge, and sat there for a moment. He examined the sky for a star; the star; his guiding light. And there it was, shining bright as it had the day he led Wendy and her brothers to his only real home. He weakly stood on his shaking legs, his stomach churning. He looked down at the city below him, and at all the lights. He knew this was his only option.

"Straight on till morning," he whispered, eyes closed. Then his feet left the ledge.


End file.
